Outbreak (Book 1): Emerald City

by Jay K. Anthony

  Tasha moved her face further away from the scope and rested her cheek on the rifle stock like Tanner had explained. She was surprised to see the lens suddenly worked and she could make out everything in high magnification. There was even a little black cross in the middle of the scope.

  “That’s better,” she said and settled the sight on a creeper, what looked to her to have once been an old man still wearing his pajamas.

  Tanner took a knee close to Tasha and she could feel him near her. If she was not about to try to kill someone’s zombified grandfather, it might not have been so weird to have him so close. The rifle was heavy and Tasha’s arm began to shake from the strain. “Rest the barrel of the rifle on the window sill,” Tanner said. “Don’t chase your target. Pick a spot it will walk into, then wait for it. Once it is where you want it to be, pull the trigger. Don’t yank on it, but don’t hesitate either. Just pull the trigger back.”

  Tasha set the end of the rifle on the window sill and adjusted her aim ahead of the creeper. With the weight off her hands, the weapon was much more steady. She clicked off the safety, watched through the scope, and waited for the creeper to lumber into view. She took a deep breath and as soon as its head slipped into the center of her scope, she exhaled and fired. The rifle made a clunking noise as the rifle’s bolt expelled and reloaded another bullet, but other than that, it was nearly silent. Tasha saw the creeper’s body crumple to the ground.

  “Nice shot, Tasha,” Tanner whispered into her ear and she finally felt like she was doing more than just taking up space and eating their food. She felt like she was contributing. Like she mattered.

  “Thank you,” she replied to Tanner. “How many bullets do we have?”

  “Call them rounds,” Tanner said. “It’s military speak.” He opened a container of ammunition and looked inside. “Looks like a couple hundred.”

  “Can I keep practicing?” Tasha asked, already looking for another target to shoot.

  “You bet,” Tanner said so Tasha fired again. And again. And again. Ten minutes went by. She knelt by the window and counted eighteen kills before the rifle ran out of ammunition. She had missed twelve times, but she did not think anyone was counting. It was a morbid scene in the road with all of the dead creepers, but she wanted to keep going. She looked at Tanner.

  “Got another magazine?” she asked.

  “Slow down, killer,” Williams said. “We need to get a move on.” Tasha frowned but stood up and held the sniper rifle out to Tanner.

  “No,” he said. “You keep it. You have a real knack for it. I’ll use yours.”

  “Um, thanks,” she said.

  “One more thing,” Tanner said. “This is a pretty high powered scope, good for shooting things at a distance, but not so much when they are close up.” He took the weapon from her and demonstrated how the rifle was adjustable. The scope, with the push of a button, pivoted to the side and out of the way, revealing standard open iron sights. “Now it’s just like any other rifle,” he continued, and pushed the scope back into its original position where it clicked into place. “Cool?” he asked.

  “Very,” Tasha replied. Tanner quickly reviewed with her how to reload and then handed back the weapon. Tasha gathered up her stuff and waited. Ortiz was at the door, taking down their barricade as quietly as she could.

  “Remember everyone, noise will get us killed,” Williams said. “Cleveland, that means you.”

  “I got it, Sergeant,” Cleveland replied.

  “Good,” Williams said. “Ortiz, you are on point. Find us some wheels.”

  Ortiz opened the door and peeked outside. “All clear,” she said and lead them out and down the stairs. Once they reached the front door, Williams told Tasha to stay close behind Ortiz. He said that Tasha’s new job was to snipe any wandering vegetables.

  “But,” he said. “You are to follow Ortiz’s direction. Don’t just go off shooting shit. She is your spotter and you kill what she tells you to. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Tasha replied.

  “Good,” Ortiz said. “Because there are two coming our way right now.” Ortiz pointed them out. They were half a city block away, but Tasha knew if they spotted any of them in her group, the creepers would come running, and probably bring more. She knelt in the doorway and lined up her shot. Tasha took a breath, fired, and killed the first creeper. The second creeper turned to look at the first creeper’s dead body and let out a hiss like a cat. Tasha rotated slightly and lined up on the second creeper’s head. She pulled the trigger and the zombie crumpled to the street next to the first one.

  “Nice work,” Ortiz said and looked at Williams. “Which way, Sergeant?”

  Williams pointed to the right. “East,” he said. “Check any vehicle which still looks operable for keys. If we’re lucky, we’ll find one that has gas in it.” The five of them ran out through the doorway in a single file line and jogged down the street, checking the cars and trucks parked or abandoned along the road. Unfortunately, they were still in the warehouse district and there was not much to choose from. After a few minutes, they came to a tall chain link fence with a sign that read “Employees Only”. It was a full parking lot with a wide variety of vehicles.

  “Sweet,” Cleveland said.

  “Keep moving,” Williams ordered and they skirted along the fence to a gate. Ortiz led them inside.

  “What are we looking for?” Tasha asked.

  “Anything big with four doors,” Williams replied. “Look for something with a driver still in it so that we don’t have to worry about where the keys are.” The group started searching.

  “Got one,” Tanner said after a minute. He stood beside a dark green truck, a sports edition with 4x4 on the side and big wheels. The passenger side window had been broken in and the rotted remains of the driver still sat behind the wheel.

  Williams walked over to the truck, opened the driver’s door and the body, decomposed from the weather and picked over by seagulls, spilled out onto the pavement. Williams ignored the corpse and looked at the ignition. “Keys,” he said and got in. “Stinks like ass in here,” he said and tried the engine but nothing happened. “Battery is probably dead.”

  “What do we do?” Ortiz asked.

  Williams looked around the interior of the truck. “It’s a manual,” he said. “Let’s push start it.” He put the truck’s transmission into neutral. “Okay. Cleveland, Tanner, Tasha. Push. Ortiz, watch the perimeter.” Together, they navigated the truck out of the parking lot. Williams steered until he arranged the truck so that it was pointed toward Puget Sound where the road sloped slightly downhill. He set the brake. “Hey, Tasha,” Williams said from where he sat behind the steering wheel. “Kill that vegetable so I don’t have to run him over.”

  Tasha looked down the road. A creeper was stumbling up the street toward them. I’m being tested again, she thought and checked the sniper rifle to make sure a round was loaded and the safety was off. She took a knee next to the truck and raised the rifle. She felt tense, so she paused to take a deep breath and tried to relax to make herself as steady as possible. The sun was behind the creeper and caused a glare in the rifle’s lens. She did her best to ignore it, but could not steady the crosshairs on the creeper’s head. Not every shot has to be a headshot, she reminded herself. She dropped her aim to the center of the creeper’s chest and pulled the trigger. The creeper stumbled backward and then looked around.

  “Did you hit it?” Cleveland asked from behind her.

  Tasha did not answer. She aimed at the creeper again and waited. After a few seconds, the creeper dropped to its knees and then spilled over onto its face in the street. Tasha waited a moment more for the creeper to get up or at least move, but it remained still in the road. “I guess so,” she said.

  “Good work,” Williams said taking off the brake. “Now let’s see if we can get this truck running.”

  Tasha got back behind the truck and started to push with the others. It was slow at first, but after a few se
conds, they got the truck rolling fast enough they were all running. “Here we go!” Williams shouted and popped the clutch. The truck shuddered and blew a cloud of black exhaust, but it started. Williams made a tight turn in the street and came back for the group. He left the engine running and climbed over into the shotgun seat. “Ortiz, you drive. Tanner, you’re in the back. Cleveland, Tasha, you’re in the backseat. Move, before any of our friends show up.”

  Everyone loaded up. Tanner started to climb into the back of the truck, but caught his foot on the way over and tumbled into the truck bed. “I’m okay!” he said and slapped the side of the truck twice. “All good!”

  “Christ, Tanner,” Ortiz said and put the truck into gear. She stomped the accelerator and squealed the tires as she drove up the street. “Which way?” she asked.

  “Take a left,” Williams directed. “Get us onto West Seattle. It’s four lanes each way so there should be plenty of room.”

  CLARK

  "Damn. Where is everyone?" Clark asked as he followed Rocha out through a door from an abandoned corridor and onto a lower deck of the cruise ship.

  “Hell if I know,” Rocha replied over his shoulder. “I have to admit, I don’t get it. Usually survivors want to be found. They leave clues and shit so people like us can find them. Stuff I wouldn’t hesitate to follow. It’s not like when I was in Iraq. We were dealing with opposing forces that had been known to use clues and directions against us by turning the information around, leading our troops into ambush sites. But lurkers? They don’t care. It’s not like they got the brain capacity to pull off tricks anyways. They just want to find something to eat.”

  Speaking of eating … Clark suddenly had an idea. “Hey, maybe that’s it,” Clark said. “You think there is a kitchen or something around here? The survivors would need food to hold out these last few months.”

  Rocha snapped his fingers and looked back at Clark. “Smart guy! There has to be,” Rocha said and began to look around the deck. After a second, he waved for Clark to follow.

  Clark came over and saw a sign for the cafeteria. "Good work," he said and they followed the directions to a kitchen. Inside they found the signs of survivor activity they had been looking for. The place was a mess of broken crates and open cupboards. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Clark said.

  “Damn straight,” Rocha said. “These broken locks are dead giveaway. I’ve never met a lurker smart enough to look for food that way. A couple months back, Mathews and I got assigned to clear out a dried salmon factory. There was salmon hanging from the rafters and the lurkers in there ignored it all.”

  “Not too smart,” Clark said.

  “Nope,” Rocha agreed. “But you know what? I think the lurkers like to chase their kill first.”

  Clark knew there was no scientific evidence which supported what Rocha had just said but Clark did not like the idea just the same. Not at all. “Let’s see what else we can find,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Don’t forget to keep a watch on our backs,” Rocha warned and started looking around. “There has to be something here which will help us find where the survivors are hiding.” Clark nodded in agreement and looked around.

  What is that? Clark thought as his eyes fell on a strange opening. "Hey," he said to Rocha. "Over here." Clark saw an open food elevator with access to the floors below. There was a rope made from bedsheets knotted together like some kid trying to escape from his upstairs window. "Going to trust that rope?" he joked.

  "Not in a million years," Rocha said and took off his backpack. “I’ve got a hundred feet of climbing rope in here though that I do trust. I don’t know how far that elevator goes, but this has to be long enough.”

  “We're not … I mean, you want … we’re going to go down there?”

  “Damn straight,” Rocha replied. “This is the best clue we’ve got. Don’t sweat it. It’ll be just like the helicopter, but in a smaller space. I’ll go first. Keep an eye out while I figure out where to tie this rope off.”

  Clark stood guard as Rocha secured one end of the rope to a pipe under a sink and dropped the other end down the elevator shaft. Clark saw Rocha staring at him. “What?” he asked.

  Rocha unsnapped the chin strap on his helmet and took it off. “Here,” he said and tossed it to Clark.

  “What’s this for?”

  “I don’t want you falling and cracking your head open,” Rocha said as he clipped the climbing rope into his Swiss seat.

  “Don’t you need this more than me?” Clark asked.

  Rocha gave Clark another look. “I doubt it,” he said and climbed into the elevator. “Going to be a bit cramped,” Rocha said. “Shit. I don’t even have room to work my rifle.”

  “We could find some stairs,” Clark suggested.

  “Nah, it’s good. We just have to make this quiet. Think stealth mode.” With that, Rocha began to slowly repel down the shaft. Clark watched and Rocha made it look easy enough. Once the soldier reached the bottom, he unclipped from the rope and gave Clark a thumbs up.

  Good Lord, what the hell am I doing here? Clark wondered as he put on Rocha’s helmet and set the face mask into place. Seeing no better options, he clipped onto the rope, looked around to make sure there were no infected sneaking up on him, and climbed into the elevator shaft. Rocha had been right, it was cramped. How the hell Rocha fit in here is beyond me, Clark thought and began to shimmy down the rope. Reaching the bottom was surprisingly uneventful and Clark found himself in some kind of ship’s pantry. Unfortunately there was nothing to indicate where the survivors had gone from there.

  “Now what?” Clark asked.

  “Back to room-by-room,” Rocha said.

  Shit, Clark thought but followed Rocha’s lead out of the ship’s pantry. As they worked, Clark could not believe the amount of cabins and employee quarters on the cruise ship. After thirty minutes, they still had not found any sign of the survivors. Clark was frustrated that all they had accomplished was exterminating a handful of infected who were stumbling around the hallways. “I need a break,” Clark finally admitted.

  “Damn straight,” Rocha said. “I have no idea where the hell everyone is at. I don’t even know any more if we should be looking up or down.”

  Clark glanced through an open door into a room with a balcony. “In here okay?” he asked and Rocha led the way inside.

  “Clear,” Rocha said, so Clark closed the door behind them and Rocha took out his satellite radio. Clark stood at the balcony and drank water from his canteen while Rocha called Command.

  “What’s up?” Clark asked when Rocha was done.

  “Just checking in,” Rocha said.

  “That’s it?”

  “No,” Rocha said. “Command said they were short on chopper support so if we get into trouble, we need to plan on holding out on our own for a while.”

  “Fantastic,” Clark said. He did not like the news, but he knew the military was struggling just like everyone else. Still, it did not mean he had to like it. He was tired and felt like they had been going in circles. He started to sit down on the couch in the room.

  "Don’t get comfortable. Our mission is still to find the survivors,” Rocha said.

  Clark swore under his breath, but stood back up. “Okay, but where?”

  “Let’s head back to where we started," Rocha suggested. “Maybe we missed something.”

  "Whatever," Clark said and went to open the door to the hallway.

  “Check that door before you open it,” Rocha said.

  “Got it,” Clark replied and opened the door just enough to look outside and make sure no infected had snuck up on them. Nothing. He opened it the rest of the way and looked in both directions. Still nothing. Where the hell is everybody? he wondered and stepped into the hallway. Rocha skirted past him and they worked their way back in the direction of the ship’s pantry. Clark was quickly turned around.

  “Did we come this way?” Clark asked.

  “Nope. I thought we’d g
o the long way,” Rocha said. “Don’t worry about it. We’re almost there.”

  Fabulous, Clark thought. Suddenly Rocha stopped and pointed. “Hey,” Rocha said. “What’s that door?”

  Clark looked and saw a door labeled ‘Theater’. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Think maybe it’s what we have been looking for?”

  “Yeah,” Clark said. “Maybe the passengers all congregated in the ship’s theater auditorium!” It would be big enough, he thought and he adjusted his helmet so he could see better through the mask. He walked to the door and looked it over. It was a big heavy double door and he reached out to turn the handles.

  “Check the door!” Rocha shouted, but it was too late. The double doors opened towards Clark and a wave of infected poured through the opening. Clark caught a glimpse of dozens of them as he fell under the onslaught and was pinned to the ground. He screamed in terror as the infected stomped, bit, and clawed at his suit. He tried to roll over and stand up, but they were piled on top of him. He felt them pulling one of his boots off, so he kicked blindly. One of the infected crawled on top of him and tried biting at the helmet’s face mask. It growled at him and puked blood onto his mask, blinding Clark with the gore.

  Clark screamed as panic swelled in his chest. The clawing and biting hurt bad, even through the shark suit. His mind spun … how long will the shark suit hold? Will my mask block the virus? He had screwed up and the mistake was going to cost him his life. I’m a dead man, he thought. The only thing he could do now was make sure the infected did not get to Rocha.

  “Rocha!” he screamed. “Run for it!” Instead of fighting the infected all over him, he grabbed at them to keep them from getting past. Suddenly an explosion went off in the direction of the theater and Clark felt the floor shake beneath him. He felt pawing at his face and a hard bite on his shoulder. The weight of the pile of infected on top of him was crushing the breath out of him. He heard another explosion and then the Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! of Rocha’s machine gun. Suddenly the weight on his right arm was gone and he wiped at the blood on his face mask. He could see through the streaks of blood that Rocha was still standing in the doorway, shooting down the infected just as fast as he could aim and pull the trigger.